


Steve Rogers was a Good Man

by AnonEhouse



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Animal Transformation, Crack Treated Seriously, Dragons, Fluff and Crack, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-10
Updated: 2013-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-22 23:58:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/919577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonEhouse/pseuds/AnonEhouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something went really, really wrong during the super soldier experiment. Instead of the best man he could be, he became the best... well...if it's big, reptilian and shoots flames, Howard can't think of anything else to call it, but a dragon. Steve is still a patriot under the scales. He's just got a slightly different world view, that's all.</p><p>(past and future relationships hinted, but no explicit).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Steve Rogers was a Good Man

**Author's Note:**

> I napped. I woke up with this in my mind. I dream weird.

(If you are reading this on any PAY site this is a STOLEN WORK, the author has NOT Given Permission for it to be here. If you're paying to read it, you're being cheated too because you can read it on Archiveofourown for FREE.)

The screaming didn't stop. The pitch rose until Howard couldn't hear it any longer, but he could tell. His hand hovered over the abort switches, but Erskine caught his eye and gave a slight negative head shake.

Erskine was right; at this point, going forward was Rogers' only chance. Halfway transformed would be... so many ways that could be a grotesque failure, worse than a quick death. Howard let his hands drop to his sides. 

The chamber trembled. Astonished, Howard looked down at his monitors at indicators he hadn't expected to need. "Pressure build up! Take cov...." Before he could finish the warning the chamber exploded, peeled back and shattered like an egg shell, but there was no shrapnel- the metal and ceramic was melted, fused and burst by ... what used to be Steve Rogers.

Scale armor, smoothly fitted blue glossy scales, covered his massive chest. It wasn't a human chest. The chest, and all the rest of him, of it, it just kept impossibly growing with each inhaled, grunted, growled, breath. This wasn't a man. It wasn't even any beast that had ever walked the earth. It was a nightmare brought to life.

And the worst of it was that when the massive head tilted in Howard's direction, those were still Steve Rogers' eyes, still intelligent, still aware of what he'd been, and whatever the hell he now was. No one moved as the seconds ticked by, as those cold blue eyes swept over the gathered scientists, brass, and onlookers who'd wangled an invitation they probably now regretted. What was, had been, Rogers spoke in a voice like thunder. "I smell a traitor," he snarled, nostrils flaring to reveal scarlet interiors and faint blue flickerings of flame. His head darted forward, balanced by a neck longer, and more flexible, than any giraffe. Giraffes don't have fangs, either. And they can't swallow a man, kicking and screaming, god, swallow him _whole_.

Howard watched in sick fascination as the squirming lump traveled down the length of... he had to say it...the dragon's throat. There was a muffled _bang_. Steve the dragon twitched, growled, and bent his head down to cough up a sodden mass of clothing and a half-melted gun. There wasn't any sign of the man. Steve belched. The pale red fine scales covering his face darkened. "Excuse me," he said.

Erskine stepped forward, trembling. "Are you going to eat me, too, Steve?"

"Of course not, what do you think I am?" Steve sounded indignant. One foreleg went up to pick at his teeth, prying loose a belt buckle. He turned his claws over and stared at them. "Oh, this isn't good." His wings flapped once, knocking over several heavy cabinets.

***

"He was a plant," Peggy said, sliding a folder across the conference table. "We haven't been able to find out exactly how he got into the program, but believe me, we're working on it. Apparently one of Erskine's former colleagues had warned the High Command how close he was to perfecting the serum."

"Perfect," Erskine said softly. He looked as if he'd aged overnight. "I took a good man, and turned him into a... monster from myths."

Howard wanted to deny it, but... eating people? That wasn't the Steve Rogers he knew. "He's still a loyal American and he wants to fight."

"Can we trust him not to turn on us?" asked one of the generals who'd come over the past few days to observe the dragon.

Another general commented dryly, "Gentlemen, he's impervious to bullets, bombs, fire, and poison, whether applied internally or externally. He's got _wings_. The only reason he's still here is because he's still a loyal American. I say we send him out with whatever support he can use." The general's eyes gleamed. "We need to do it now, before the German program comes up with something like Rogers."

"But... he's a private, for god's sake. He didn't even complete the full basic training course!" general number one said. "We can't put him in command."

"Sure we can. The President has authorized it." The general looked at Howard. "I want captain's insignia on Rogers. I don't care how you do it."

Well, that settled that. Howard figured he had enough adamantium to make bars. Maybe he could crimp them onto Rogers' shoulder scales.

***

The Red Dragon was a dirty fighter, but Steve forced him out over the ocean, his fire against Schmidt's corrosive slime. He was bigger than Steve, but his wings were as deformed as his face, so he was powerful but slow. Once he realized he couldn't defeat Steve, he tried to turn their course across the ocean, taunting Steve with the destruction of New York. 

"I may not be a good man any longer," Steve said as he tangled their wings together, forcing the Red Dragon down towards the one vulnerability they shared. "But I remember what it was like." They hit the iceberg still fighting, melting and rotting it until the cold took its toll on them both. Steve managed with his last waking moment to rip Schmidt's throat out, and satisfied, he let the ice take him.

***

Falling into cold water was a hell of a way to wake up. They weren't even that mean in boot camp. Steve flailed before he remembered that not only did he have wings, but he had an internal gas bag, like a zeppelin, Howard had said. He took several deep breaths until his sides were taut and he was floating on top of gray-green waves instead of beneath them. He flapped out of the water and used another handy trick that came with his body to orient himself. He didn't know how homing pigeons did it, but he supposed it was much the same thing. He rose higher and set a course for New York City. He had a nagging feeling there was some reason he shouldn't do it, but heck, he was homesick. And he really wanted a proper pastrami on rye.

***

What the heck had happened to New York City? Not only were there a lot more, and taller, and uglier, buildings, the sky was full of helicopters, fancy, shiny things. Noisy and nosy. Steve felt himself getting hotter. They were shouting at him, threats and orders. He didn't see any generals, or any military at all, and he sure wasn't going to listen to any civilians. He wanted to come home! 

He shot flame in front of a particularly annoying helicopter, one with 'Daily Bugle' on the side, and grinned as it veered away. He sniffed, trying to locate pastrami, but there were so many other scents... he was distracted by something that almost smelled right, ignoring the noisy machines while he tried to triangulate on the smell of hot, spicy meat and bread.

And then a flash of something like blue light hit him between the eyes. It was annoying and made him blink. He flipped in mid-air to find the source. A... flying knight? Something deep inside of him recognized a man in armor. Red and gold. Gold. Like treasure. His stomach rumbled. Better than pastrami. A knight in gold wrapping, like a fancy chocolate.

"Oh, crap," the knight said just before Steve swallowed him. There were bumps and bubbles inside him. Steve burped. He decided to go somewhere quiet.

***

"Jarvis?" Tony fired his repulsors again, but whatever this thing was made of, it seemed to just... absorb the force."This isn't good. Jarvis! Direct all to the chest unit." There was a brief blue glow, and then the wet scarlet walls of muscle tightened around the Iron Man suit and squeezed. "Jarvis! What's happening?" Tony tried clawing and kicking. He just slid down faster.

"Peristaltic motion, sir," Jarvis wasn't joking for once. "Perhaps it would be wise to conserve power. And oxygen."

The squeezing ended abruptly. Tony fell several feet into a large chamber, landing on a firm, bouncy surface, like a waterbed made out of meat. He fired up his repulsors, but the opening on top had already sealed. He looked around and tried a few more repulsor blasts and missiles, to no effect except to knock him around some more.. "Where am I? This isn't a stomach, is it?" He wasn't entirely sure whether to be pleased about that or not. Not being digested was good, but maybe the stomach would be less tough, or... yeah, could travel through and... everybody poops. Pooping Iron Man would be gross, but hey, he'd shot his way out of an alien flying armored caterpillar. Dragon shouldn't be any big deal. If only he could get out of here.

"It appears to be a sac with no outlet. There are no glands secreting fluids... however there does seem to be some air circulation. I cannot explain it."

Tony slid down to stare at the red muscles surrounding him. "It's a larder. I'm in the snack cupboard, being kept fresh. I am so very screwed."

***

Steve landed on a mountain in the Adirondacks. He was fairly sure of that much. He sat down and flexed his wings before folding them neatly along his spine. There was a lovely view down a steep slope, lots of pine trees, plenty of blue sky. And he had his very own knight. Steve was warmly content. He stretched out his neck, coughed a few times, swallowed air, coughed, swallowed air, and then brought the knight up to deposit him on the ground. He laid one forefoot heavily on his prize and grinned. "Name and rank, soldier."

"I am not a soldier!" the knight replied with some spirit.

Steve brought his nose down to squint at the armor. His close range vision wasn't all that great, but he was fairly sure there was no insignia. "Huh. A fit fellow like you should be overseas, fighting Nazis." He eyed his knight suspiciously. "Are you a coward? You don't smell like a coward." He sniffed again. "You almost smell familiar."

"Of course I do, I smell like dragon slobber." Flat on his back, helpless, but still with a mouth on him. Steve's smile returned. His knight wasn't a coward. 

"Take off your armor." He ran a claw tip down the metal, making a loud screech. "Or I'll take it off."

"No, don't!" The knight raised his helmet visor. He had a nice face, but wore a really prissy looking beard. Steve wondered about that. People who wore beards were bums or hermits mostly. Or resistance fighters. "Look, you seem like a nice guy, dragon, dragon-guy, whatever. A little confused, that's all. No one's fighting the Nazis. That was a long time ago." The knight babbled on, but Steve had stopped listening to anything more than the sound of his voice. Nice voice. A bit on the whiny side.

Steve ran a claw down the center of the armor and set it at the edge of the glowing circle. "Off," he said.

"Jesus, no! All right, fine. Here." The knight took off his helmet. He had fluffy hair. Steve licked his hair. "Oh, god, you want to peel me before you eat me. Dip me in hot dragon oil and make me fondue."

"Fondue?" Steve paused, letting his tongue flicker out to catch the knight's scent better. "Howard? Howard Stark?"

"Um. No. But he was my dad." The knight stared up at him. "You know. When he was drunk. Really drunk. Sometimes he'd talk about something crazy. The army kept it secret he said. But... how could anyone keep a dragon a secret..." His eyes got really huge. "Oh shit. Captain Rogers? I'm... Tony Stark."

Steve squinted and tilted his head from side to side. "Huh. All right. I guess I slept awhile." He scratched at the armor again. "Take it off."

"Wait, why? We're friends, aren't we?"

"Friends? Howard didn't tell you everything." Steve licked his lipless lips. "Get your kit off, Tony. I want to see if your ass is as good as your old man's." 

Tony made a little noise, and his eyes rolled up white. Steve sighed. Well, he'd just have to peel off the foil himself before he got to suck on his sweet treat. His tongue curled happily. Stark ass, always good to the last lick.


End file.
